A SERMON PREACH'D On SUNDAY
MAY
16th, 1756, At the PARISH CHURCH of St.
George's Bloomsbury,
Occasion'd by the DEATH of
The Rev. Mr.
STURGES, LECTURER of the said PARISH; PUBLISH'D
At the Request of several of the
INHABITANTS.
By
THOMAS FRANCKLIN.
—Amissas flemus Amicitias.
LONDON: Printed for R. FRANCKLIN, in
Russel-Street, Covent-Garden,
1756.
II. SAM. 12, 23.
I shall go to
Him,
but he shall not return unto
Me.
DAVID,
who in the general course and tenor of his life, had by his piety and virtue recommended himself to the favour and acceptance of the Almighty, was by the indulgence of an unlawful passion betray'd into the commission of a crime which most deservedly call'd down upon him the divine displeasure. God notwithstanding, who in the midst of his wrath remembered mercy, was graciously pleased on his sincere repentance to spare the life of the royal sinner, and for reasons best known to his supreme wisdom to punish him in the death of his child.
THE Lord, says the prophet
Samuel, strake the child that
Uriah's
wife bare unto
David,
and it was very sick.
David
therefore besought God for the child, and
David
fasted, and went in, and lay all night upon the earth, neither would he eat bread. And it came to pass on the seventh day that the child dy'd.
THEN David
arose from the earth, and anointed himself, and came into the house of the Lord, and they set bread before him and he did eat.
AND when his servants seem'd surpris'd at this change of behaviour,
he said unto them, while the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: for I said, who can tell whether God will be gracious unto me, that the child may live?
BUT
now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring him back again?
I shall go to him, but he shall not return unto me.
WHEN the afflicted parent began to reflect, that to indulge his sorrows for the loss of his beloved child would only be fruitless and unavailing, and that his grief instead of removing, could only increase the calamity, he submitted himself in all humility to the divine dispensation; he consider'd that his sighs could not recall, nor his tears restore, what he lamented; and that it was therefore his duty to resign
his
will, and acknowledge a
superior one.
To resume that post which he had forsaken, to perform that part which the creator had allotted to him, and those social offices to which he was appointed; he comforts himself with the conviction that a time wou'd come when they should meet again, when God should call him to another state, and that in the mean time he had something to do in this.
I shall go to him,
says he,
but he shall not return unto me.
THE conduct and behaviour of
David
on this occasion, may, when we are involved in the like calamity demand our praise, and merit our imitation.
A decent sorrow for the loss of our departed friends, as it is the natural production of a feeling heart, is not only pardonable, but meritorious, if kept within the bounds of prudence, and warranted by the dictates of religion and virtue. But if we suffer it to interfere with our duty, to clog the wheels of life, and prevent the discharge of those offices which we were sent into this world to perform, it then becometh highly culpable.
IN a world where we are liable to so many temptations, sorrow is indeed but too often necessary to call off our attachment to it, to remind us of our state and condition here, to wean our affections from things below, and fix them on that better and more durable state, where only
true joys are to be found.
OF all those useful monitors of mankind which from age to age have enlighten'd an ignorant, or refin'd a corrupt world, so profitable an instructor hath never yet been found as Death. This great and universal teacher aboundeth every day in the wisest lessons of morality, he speaks in a language to be understood by all, appeals in the most pathetic manner to our senses, and strikes deep into our hearts; but his admonitions are always more effectual, when he appeareth clothed as it were in his bloody garment, and affrights us with more than ordinary terrors, when he cometh as the scripture saith,
like an armed man,
when on a sudden he invades the palaces of health, or throws down the gaudy structures of youth and beauty.
WHEN the wither'd and sapless oak, which perhaps had stood for ages, yields at last to the hand of time, loses it's verdure and decays, or is
hewed down, and thrown into the fire,
it causeth neither wonder nor regret: but when the young and flourishing plant, with all it's blossoms full and fair upon it, is on a sudden blasted by lightning, or torn up by storm and tempest, then indeed we behold it with an eye of pity and astonishment. And thus also when wearied nature sinks as it were to rest, we are not disturb'd at her repose; when the old and decrepid sink into the grave, we neither murmur nor repine; when the sick and weak, whose lives are burthensome and uneasy to others, are released by the interposing hand of death from a scene of perpetual misery; when the poor, the oppressed, and the captive are set free from toil and slavery; when the wicked are prevented from multiplying their crimes, and filling up the
measure of their iniquity,
then it is that we call death a blessing, and submit with readiness to the determinations of providence, and the decrees of the Almighty.
BUT when the order of nature is as it were reversed, when youth, health and vigour are in a moment changed into sickness, deformity and decay; when death by a sudden and unexpected stroke cuts off the hopes of promised pleasures, and puts an end at once to the fairest prospects of rising virtue; this alarms the insensible, and staggers the resolute; terrifies the wicked, dejects and dispirits even the best of men.
THUS sudden and thus dreadful, attended with circumstances too affecting to relate, was the stroke which as it were in a moment so lately away from us that worthy and esteemed youth who so lately filled this place.
THE sudden disappearance of any object which hath been constantly before our eyes is always attended with some degree of anxiety, but when that object was the relation whom we loved, the friend whom we valued, the man whom we esteemed, the pain must then be very sharp, the sorrow must be exquisite.
THERE is a time in human life, after which connections cannot be formed with delight, or relyed on with confidence, and when consequently the remembrance of past pleasures can only serve to embitter present happiness.
YOU were not (and happy is it for you that you were not) like myself, very closely and very intimately connected with him. The loss of a real friend whom we have tried and known, with whom we have been bred up from our earliest years, the partaker of all our joys, and the partner of all our griefs, is perhaps one of the most acute and painful of all human calamities; it is a loss indeed which becometh every day and every hour more distressful; it is a wound cut as it were into the tree of life, and as the bark extends, and we advance in years, it groweth deeper and more visible.
PERMIT me then to pay the tribute of friendship to his beloved memory. Permit me to call to your remembrance how faithfully, how chearfully, and how successfully he laboured in your service; how nobly he fought the cause of his Master and Redeemer; how strenuously he recommended
his
example, and how pathetically he enforced
his
precepts: his discourses were always intelligible to the meanest, and at the same time not beneath the attention of the highest capacities. He preached the gospel of Christ in the same spirit of meekness and humility which inspired the first illustrious teachers of it, without the ostentatious parade of superior learning, or the fashionable pretence to superior godliness, so frequently of late years to be met with amongst us. He had piety enough to render his whole conduct through life, just, uniform, and irreproachable; and he who has more will only run into superstition, bigotry and enthusiasm. He had learning sufficient to improve and adorn his understanding without misguiding his judgment, or overwhelming his natural capacities. His stile was animated, but not turgid; his action just and lively, but not affected, or theatrical. He touch'd the passions of his hearers, but never inflamed them; and whilst he appealed to their reason by argument, he never puzzled and confounded it by sophistry and delusion.
IT is indeed extraordinary, (and it is a circumstance which I am certain you have too much gratitude to forget) that considering
He had been usher of
Westminster
school almost ten years, and always distinguish'd himself by his unwearied
and assiduity▪
the laborious employment in which he was constantly engaged, he could find time so well and so punctually to perform his duty here. But his industry was equal to his capacities, and whatever he had a mind to do, he was sure to perform. Had he lived in an age when merit in his profession could have been any recommendation to him, his station in the church had been as distinguished as his abilities: and he that
deserved
the highest honours, would doubtless have
possessed
them.
HE filled this place indeed with so much credit to himself, and gave so much satisfaction to all who heard him, as to leave no easy task to those who shall succeed him. Had it been
my
lot, I should have embraced it with fear and diffidence, but endeavoured to execute it with diligence and fidelity. I should have considered it as a kind of legacy bequeathed by my beloved friend, as an office committed to me by him, and consequently should have had one additional obligation to the conscientious discharge of it. But since it is otherwise determined; you will, I hope, forgive my taking this opportunity of doing justice to one of the dearest, and one of the best of men. The last time he ever performed the sacred function, and appeared in the pulpit, was to supply my place in a neighbouring parish; it may be no improper return therefore, that the last time I may perhaps appear in this, I should take occasion to remember
him.
BUT let us turn our eyes from what he
said
to what he
did:
from the precepts which he delivered to the far more instructive page of his general conduct and behaviour.
HIS life indeed was like his preaching, and his actions resembled his discourse; all pure, chaste, easy and unaffected: his modesty by endeavouring to hide, but served the more to discover his merit: he never affected superiority on account of that knowledge which he
had,
or pretended to that which he had
not:
his conversation was affable and courteous, without the least taint of servility or dissimulation: his chearfulness never deviated into licentiousness, nor did his sincerity betray him into ill-manners; and in his gayer hours he had all the sprightliness and vivacity of wit, without that spleen, rancour and ill-nature which so frequently accompany it.
TO the fire and spirit of youth, he join'd the prudence and discretion of age. From a nobleness of soul, which few have equalled, he rather chose to stoop to an employment in life, to which he was infinitely superior, and which his constitution was indeed unequal to, than to wound his conscience, or sacrifice his integrity by the mean compliances of a loose and degenerate age; by a servile dependance which he despised, or a mean dissimulation which he abhorr'd.
HE was, to say the truth, what one of our noblest poets call, "the noblest work of God, "an honest and an upright man." If he had a fault, it was a fault which only the best of natures are subject to, too delicate a feeling for the sufferings of others, and too intense a sensibility of his own. He permitted sorrows for evils which he could not cure, to sink too deep into his heart; and it hath been questioned, whether his excessive grief for the death of another, did not in a great measure hasten and contribute to his own. Thus were even his tenderness and piety pernicious to him; and that virtue incurred a
punishment,
which doubtless had merited a
reward.
To sum up his character then as briefly as possible; when heard, he was admired; when seen, esteemed; when known, beloved. As a preacher attended to, and as a man respected; in the strictest sense of the words, a christian, a son, a brother, a companion, and a friend.
BUT alas! the pious christian, the excellent preacher, the affectionate son, the loving brother, the amiable companion, and the sincere friend are now no more.
SINCE such he was, shall we lament, or shall we envy his condition? Parents must weep, friends will complain, mankind in general may regret the loss, but surely this consolation still remains with all; that the sorrows which
we
feel,
he
doth not partake of; and that he whom we bewail is most assuredly happy, though we can
not
be so.
IN regard to those who must most deeply feel his loss, those pious, good and afflicted parents who regret him, they will I doubt not submit to the divine will. They will reflect, that as no man whilst he lives can be pronounced truly happy, so neither can we affirm any man truly good or virtuous whilst he lives, because there is always a possibility of falling both into misery and vice.
HAD they left
him
behind therefore, they must have left him to be tossed in the ocean of life, where the boisterous and unruly passions might have overwhelmed all his virtues, and sunk him into the abyss of sin and sorrow; they will reflect with pleasure therefore, that
Death
hath as it were set the seal upon his character, and put it out of the power of a vicious world to corrupt, or of a deceitful world to betray him. They will reflect also what he was taken
from,
and what they may reasonably hope he is transported
to;
taken from a fluctuating scene of guilt and misery, to a permanent and certain state of everlasting happiness; to a place where his virtues could be no longer subject to change, diminution, or decay. If they reflect that he was snatched away from them in the meridian of his age, they will reflect also, that he was prepared for it by a life of innocence and goodness; that the sooner he deserved happiness, the sooner he obtained it; that his death therefore was graciously ordained by the Almighty, that such
early
virtues might be recompensed by as
early
a reward.
IF they reflect with sorrow, as they doubtless will, that he shall never
return
to them, they will reflect also, and surely with the utmost pleasure and satisfaction, that it will not be long before they shall
go to him;
that he only hastened his journey to the other world, that he might be ready to receive them there; that he is employed in heaven as he lov'd to be on earth, in acts of duty towards
them,
and is even now perhaps preparing for them the seats of uninterrupted happiness designed for them by their bountiful creator in the regions of bliss and immortality.
THAT we shall once again see our departed friends in another state is very agreeable to our hopes, by no means dissonant to reason, nor, as I know of, contradicted by revelation or scripture. It is a joy highly rational, and therefore well adapted to a rational being; it is a joy purely spiritual, and therefore not unworthy of a spiritual being.
LET us remember then for our consolation, that, if he cannot
return
to us, we may
go to him.
SCENES of this melancholy nature must of course, if duly attended to, reform and purify the mind, they are design'd by the Almighty for our warning and for our instruction.
PERMIT them then, I beseech you, to have their due effect upon us.
AN example so terrible, an instance so alarming of the instability of all that is human, must surely be more than sufficient to repress the pride of the insolent, and to check the hopes of the ambitious; to stop the profligate in his career of pleasure, and to poison the feast of the voluptuous.
SINCE neither that youth which promiseth life, nor that health which supports, could here continue it; since neither the temperance which lays claim to years, nor the virtue which deserves, could procure them for him, who shall be proud of his strength, or who shall glory in his own perfections? Who shall promise to themselves length of days, when they remember
him
who had not run out half his course? The old cannot be so presumptuous as to hope it, the young have no right nor authority to expect it.
HEAR
this then,
as the Prophet says,
thou that dwellest carelesly, thou that art given to pleasures, thou that sayest in thine heart, I am, and none else besides me. I shall not sit as a widow, neither shall I know the loss of children. But these two things shall come unto thee in a moment, in one day the loss of children and widowhood they shall come upon thee.
WHAT
manner of men
therefore, my brethren, as the apostle says,
ought we to be in all conversation and godliness.
YOU once listen'd with attention to him as a preacher; his life also was a most instructive sermon, let his death be so likewise; let it teach us to set immediately about the necessary work of repentance, to prepare for the great and important day which is to call us off from this transitory scene, and fix us in a better and more durable one.
IF we would
go to him
whom we lament, we must tread in the same paths of honour and virtue: we must follow
his
steps if we would meet with
his
reward: we must
live
the
life,
if we would
die the death of the righteous;
if (like him) we would, whilst upon earth be esteem'd and lov'd, and when remov'd from it, praised and lamented, let us be careful
so to run as to obtain;
that after we have passed through the waves of this stormy and tempestuous world we may join him in the harbour of rest and felicity, and after all our sorrows here, be transported to the regions of joy and happiness, where we hope and believe
he
is rewarded, and is now satiating his thirst in
those rivers of bliss which flow at God's right hand for evermore.
FINIS.
ERRATUM.
PAGE 6, line 6, for
refined
read
reformed.